Wonderland
by RoseHarrow
Summary: Just a little something I thought up watching "Special Education"


**Wonderland?**

Obviously I don't own glee, or Chris Colfer, I just like to pretend that I do sometimes... which sounds creepy, when I put it like that... 

It's strange here.

_He_ calls in a gay wonderland. And it is... isn't it?

All boys dressed in their preppy uniforms to look like men rather than the children they are. They are a _team_, united in the face of adversity or, more likely, the plague of individualism sweeping the country.

And, to be honest, you rather miss the way it was with the fun of _choosing_ your wardrobe. With all the colours, the choices and the accessories, you found joy found in being different.

On the other side, here there are no dumpsters, no letterman jackets and, thank Gucci, no slurpy machine.

Everyone minds the line. It's a relief to know that this line is a rule, an enforced one, rather than a 'guideline' like it was before.

Though it doesn't mean there's no tension. You've found that there is a sort of hierarchy here. And you don't rank on it, not at all.

You're able to let it be. But it smarts. Going from the star singer of the Cheerios, flamboyant bitch of Glee and the _gay_ kid in general life to nobody is rather a shock to the system.

Here everyone already _has_ a role, and they're content with it. There's no need to shake up the system, especially when there's no reward for individuality. And that's so very strange when being unique is basically the only thing you've _ever_ found easy.

So everyone does their job, there isn't even any slacking in _homework_, everything is perfection. And a rather bland perfection it is too.

You miss excitement.

The songs are lacking; none of them seem as exciting as they were the first time you heard them practice. The so-called school stars rocking ever so coolly to Katy Perry.

But then, you were on the outside then, greener pastures and all that.

Now you remember the impromptu singing, Mr Schuester looking on fondly as everyone momentarily forgot themselves, their issues and fights, and they all lost themselves in music and you think wistfully of that briefly offered solo.

Sectionals could have been so different.

If only

But now you've got no choice, you're here. You can't just up and leave. Besides you're safe here, and that's what matters... right?

And you can excuse all of that. You _can_. Except that now you've got something else to miss.

Because _he's_ back there, probably singing to the next girl who's caught his eye and wooing her into his bed. He's always enjoyed a challenge. But once they're entrapped in his web, that's it, he's bored and wandering again.

Except with you

Yes, there were girls. You expected that. It was by no means a committed relationship.

But you were never easy. Never quick to fall for him. You _fight_ back.

He loves that.

Loved that.

Now you're alone again. He doesn't visit like he did in the beginning. It seems that the stuffy boarding school just doesn't suit him. Which you had to have known would happen. Really the hair alone should have told you that.

But you ignored that, wished it away, and now you pay for it.

Blaine has started giving you uneasy looks. Like he can see your dissatisfaction and he shouldn't be able to. You used to be a decent actor. You _had_ to be one.

But, lately you have been starting to crack.

You've started letting work slide. It's nothing serious, just not sticking to that high standard you used to preach.

You let your singing practice lessen. There is _nothing_ to worry about, it's not like you expect that you'll be getting a solo anytime soon.

Then you let your wardrobe go. There's no one to show off for anymore, and what's the point? There isn't one. Not when you can wear the uniform 24/7.

But then you're letting your skin care routine disappear. That's when you know there's a problem. The old you would never dream of neglecting your appearance.

Now you don't call anyone, they don't call you. You stay in at night and do work rather than facebook. You are quiet in class and can't be bothered to participate. You do your part in glee and listen for the rest, not even getting out your phone to text.

The fact is that you're not happy.

Forgotten by friends, they can afford to after all. They still have one another.

Then, forsaken by your lover but you can't expect anything else. He isn't the type to come visit his boyfriend on the weekend, if you were boyfriends in the first place.

What else is there?

Your family, you suppose, but they have one another now. They seem resigned to occasional visits; you don't even have your baby back. And Carol's with Burt, Finn's got Rachel. They're fine without you.

So you're reduced to moving around in a cloud, a daze. The reality of which is nowhere near as romantic as literature and cinema make it appear.

You're just depressed.

Down.

Dumped.

Almost delirious. Thinking that you hear his voice, spinning around to find no one has called your name.

Alone.

You're desperate.

So when you see Blaine leading in a muscular, shaven figure you figure that this is a new stage in your downward spiral. Really. You've been fantasising about him returning to you. But you know that it could never happen.

Except, that it does.

_He_ follows Blaine as the shorter boy weaves his way through the blazer attired population and he stands out starkly with his rough jeans and black top [pulling and stretching across that glorious chest].

His Mohawk has disappeared. A new stage? Another mother enforced doctor's appointment? You don't know. You don't _care.  
_

_You're_ still standing where you stopped when you saw them, staring blankly as you try to assimilate this situation.

Students are bumping into your still frame and moving on. Muttering crossly, loudly, about inconsiderate idiots. But you don't care.

_He's_ right in front of you. Blaine has disappeared.

It really hasn't been that long but you don't know what to say. That doesn't matter.

_You _nearly stop breathing.

You can't believe that he is here. That this is real. It doesn't matter, as long as you can stay in this delightful hallucination.

_He _reaches out to you. He brushes his knuckles down your face and appears to drink you in with his gaze.

His fingers trace over your face, thumb over your lips, and his palm settles against your neck.

_You're _suddenly aware of how wrecked you must look and you straighten automatically.

Lord, you must look awful. You haven't done your hair and for once he's wearing cologne and you _aren't_.

Then _he_ says _your _name and you're back in his arms once more.

Nothing else matters.

"Noah," you half sob, "Noah."


End file.
